


A Sherlock Proposal

by theSapphireSky



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Mycroft Being a Good Brother, Sherlock Holmes Has Feelings, The Proposal AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-22
Updated: 2018-06-22
Packaged: 2019-05-26 17:08:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15005459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theSapphireSky/pseuds/theSapphireSky
Summary: Molly glared at him as she paced. “Because we’ve only been engaged for two days!”He quirked an eyebrow. “We have known each other for nearly eight years. I should think that would be the equivalent of a modest two years of dating.”“You’re not actually considering this...this insanity?!”“It is logical. We won’t waste any time dithering over the details. And this way, we cut out the pressure of a big wedding and can get it over with. We just have to pretend to be as lovesick as possible for two more days, then we can go back to the way we were.” He paused, then added quickly. “But married, of course.”





	A Sherlock Proposal

This was insanity. What was she doing? How could she have let him talk her into this? Was she that desperate?

“Molly, do stop thinking,” Sherlock admonished, squeezing her hand in warning as they stood on the stoop of a charming little cottage. “And smile.”

She plastered on a grin just as the door opened. 

“Oh, Sherlock!” An elderly woman, Mummy no doubt, yanked the detective forward by his coat and hugged him tightly, a feat made all the more awkward by the hold he still had on her hand. Mrs Holmes pulled back and caught sight of Molly. “And this must be the blushing bride!”

Molly flinched, but thankfully Mrs Holmes was already wrapping her arms around her and didn’t notice. Sherlock, however, did and sent her a warning glare.

Over Mrs Holmes’ shoulder, the gray-haired patriarch of the Holmes family watched with twinkling eyes and a smile. His bowtie perfectly matched Mrs Holmes’ sweater. 

“Hello, dear,” he greeted her with a kiss, then ushered them inside. “Come in, come in.”

Molly tried not to think about the heat of Sherlock’s hand on her back as they walked further inside the cottage.

“Oh, you are just as cute as a button,” Mrs Holmes was gushing as they sat down in the sitting room, Mr Holmes bustling off to get tea. Molly tried to act natural as Sherlock sat right beside her on the sofa and tucked her into his side. “I can’t believe it took Sherlock so long to bring you home. But I’m so glad he did. And with a ring on your finger!”

Without realising it, Molly glanced down in surprise at her hand. “Oh, yes.” The ring was beautiful, a family heirloom, according to Sherlock. He’d had it re-sized to fit her. The silver edging subtly set off the brilliant red ruby; every time it danced in the light, her breath caught at its beauty. She jumped when Sherlock not-so-subtly nudged her. Quickly recovering, she smiled. “It is really nice to finally meet you, Mrs Holmes.”

“None of that ‘Mrs Holmes’ nonsense,” the older woman waved her off. “You must call me  _ Mummy _ .”

Molly smiled, genuinely liking the older woman. “I’d like that.”

“And of course, this is Papa,” Sherlock drawled as Mr Holmes re-entered, tea tray in hand. “He is the one with the bowtie.”

Papa smiled and handed her a cuppa, winking. “Adds a touch of class.”

Molly laughed, already relaxing under their warm welcome. 

“Now, tell me everything! How long have the two of you been dating? When did he propose? Are grandchildren in the works?” 

Well, Mummy certainly pulled no punches.

Molly blanched and her mouth fell open, gaping like a fish, turning to Sherlock. “Oh, erm...we’ve been...it’s all rather new...no ch-children...I mean, not yet...?”

To her relief, Sherlock smoothly took over from her stuttering disaster. He gripped her flapping hand and addressed his parents. “We have known each other for seven years, ten months, and 29 days. I pursued her romantically, but Molly was hesitant to hitch her wagon, so to speak, to a now-former addict. Only recently have we begun seriously courting and I proposed this week, at the morgue.” 

His parents shared a tender look, but Molly was flummoxed. And irritated. How dare he...!  _ He  _ waited? Pursued her for seven years?! Was he joking? She didn’t realise she was gripping his hand so hard until he grunted and subtly pried her nails from his palm. 

“That’s all very fast, Sherlock,” Papa observed, eyeing them both over the top of his spectacles. Molly swallowed under his probing gaze, but then he broke out into a bright smile. “Just like your mother and me. Took me a while to wear her down, but when I did, nine months later, we had Mycroft.”

Sherlock screwed his face up in disgust, while Molly laughed in relief. They were truly a sweet couple. A part of her felt guilty for the deception.

To cover her rioting emotions, she took a sip of tea. 

“Have you started planning the wedding?”

“It has been two days, Mummy.” Sherlock leaned forward and picked up his tea. “We haven’t even picked a date yet.”

“Oh?” Mummy asked, sitting up straighter. She exchanged a glance with Papa.

“Is that bad?” Molly asked.

Mummy waved her doubts away, a mischievous smile on her face. “Oh, not at all. In fact...”

Sherlock stiffened beside her.

“We’d like to have the wedding here,” Mummy declared. “In the yard, this weekend.”

As one, Molly and Sherlock spat out their tea. “What?!”

oOo

“This weekend?! Sherlock, we can’t possibly-”

“Why not?” He interrupted, steepling his hands beneath his chin as he reclined on their rather cozy-looking, small bed.  

Molly glared at him as she paced. “Because we’ve only been engaged for  _ two days!”  _

He quirked an eyebrow. “We have known each other for nearly eight years. I should think that would be the equivalent of a modest two years of dating.” 

“You’re not actually considering this...this insanity?!”

“It is logical. We won’t waste any time dithering over the details. And this way, we cut out the pressure of a big wedding and can get it over with. We just have to pretend to be as lovesick as possible for two more days, then we can go back to the way we were.” He paused, then added quickly. “But married, of course.”

His eyes closed, he missed the sadness that swept across Molly’s face. 

“Of course. We wouldn’t want our convenient marriage to be any more of an inconvenience.”

He hummed happily in agreement, entirely missing her mocking tone.

She stared at him. Finally, with a sigh, she laid down on her side of the bed and switched off the lamp, plunging the room into darkness.

“Good night, Sherlock.”

The silence was her only reply.

oOo

Somehow, in their natural Holmes Way, Mummy and Papa had managed to corral their small group of friends and family to the countryside the next day. Greg and Mrs Hudson arrived first, the copper a bit green around the gills from the drive with the former exotic dancer. He kicked back three fingers of whiskey before he had taken off his coat, no doubt hoping to erase from memory certain stories from the wild land of Florida. 

John and Mary were next, baby daughter in tow. John and Sherlock disappeared for a while after the Watsons had arrived, but loud voices could be heard from the back room. Mary had only smiled and grilled Molly in her strange, subtle-yet-not-subtle way, while Molly dodged her volleyed questions using Rosie as a shield. The boys soon reappeared, both a little red in the face, and tight-lipped about what had been said.

Finally, Mycroft and Anthea arrived just as dinner was being served. The seemingly-magical assistant pulled Molly into the spare room, a dress bag over her shoulder.

She hung it on the back of the door and as she unzipped it, Molly caught a flash of white.

“I hope you like it,” Anthea grinned in that way that said ‘I know you will.’

Molly could only stare as the most beautiful wedding dress was unveiled. It was a knee-length tea dress in the purest of white, a yellow ribbon hugging the waist, and covered in delicate lace that draped around the neck and down her arms.

“It’s...stunning,” she breathed, reaching out to touch it. 

“And tailored to your size. It is a perfect fit.”

Molly smiled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes.

oOo

“She’s a lovely girl,” Mummy said for the third time. 

Sherlock only grunted and continued to absentmindedly dry the same spot on the plate. He watched out the window as Molly walked through the garden path. She had wrapped her long black and pink atrocity of a scarf around her neck three times, but it still touched the ground. She leaned on the fence and stared out over the fields.

“Reminds me of your father, actually.”

He paused.

Mummy smiled and her eyes glazed over in memory. “He was sweet and kind and had the most awful taste in clothing. Well, you’ve seen the photos.” She laughed. “Anyway, I had decided I was not interested in him in any way and that...that I wasn’t good enough for someone like him.”

Cold guilt washed over him. “What is the point of this?”

She laid her hand on his arm and he looked down, her eyes so like his filled with love and understanding. “That you can waste so much time denying your heart. But when you are brave, when you let yourself love and be loved...oh, it’s wonderful.” She patted his cheek. “And I’m so glad to see you aren’t wasting anymore time.”

Sherlock looked back out the window. 

Molly was gone.

oOo

Molly nursed her glass of wine and listened half-heartedly to the conversations around her.

This time tomorrow, she would be married.  _ Married.  _ To Sherlock.

She felt like she was on a runaway train, only gaining more momentum, heading for an inevitable disaster.

_ What am I doing?  _ She set her glass down slipped away from the crowded sitting room, ducking outside where she drank in the cool evening air.  _ This is insanity. He doesn’t love me, this is all for his own convenience.  _

She wandered through the garden, lost in thought.  _ And yet, he cares for me in his own way. This may not be the marriage of fairy tales, with romance and flowers, but… _ She leaned against the fencepost and gazed across the field.  _ My heart will only ever belong to him. And...that will just have to be enough. _

_ We just have to make it through this wedding, put on a good show for his parents, and then everything will go back to normal. I’ll be his pathologist, he’ll be my husband, and...okay, not normal. _

But enough.

“I know what you’re doing.”

Molly stilled. Across the field, a flock of birds took flight, their cries carrying on the breeze. She could feel her heart hammering against her ribs.

When she didn’t move, Mycroft sighed and joined her at the fence, the smell of smoke and something uncannily bureaucratic clinging to him.

“I don’t suppose there is any chance at all I can talk you out of it.”

She fought the tears that pricked her eyes. “I’m afraid not.” She forced a bright smile and looked up at him. “Sherlock insisted on french vanilla, not chocolate, for our cake.”

The pity in his eyes at her obvious lie was her undoing. That Mycroft Holmes, the Ice Man, should show more compassion to her in one look than Sherlock had shown all week broke her heart.

“Excuse me,” she managed to say past the lump in her throat and hurried back inside.

oOo

The garden was beautiful, in full bloom, with the early morning sun casting golden rays across the field beyond.

An eclectic mix of chairs were arranged in a small semi-circle in front of the ivy-covered trellis leading out to the path. 

“Anthea, you never cease to amaze me,” Mary praised the arrangement. Anthea just smiled and straightened Mycroft’s tie, the two sharing a secret look.

The group was small enough that there was no need for anyone to stand up with them. John sat beside Mummy, who was cooing over baby Rosie, no doubt dreaming of her future brown-eyed grandchildren.

Satisfied with Mycroft’s appearance, Anthea gestured for everyone to take their seats before striding down the path to the cottage, where Molly and Papa waited.

The bride was clearly nervous, her eyes darting back and forth from the door to her hands. The gown was a perfect fit, as Anthea had promised, and with her hair down and brushed til it gleamed, Molly was absolutely stunning.

“Are you ready?” 

The PA didn’t miss the brief moment of hesitation before Molly nodded. But Anthea was a professional. She had to account for every possibility. So she kissed Molly’s cheek and hurried to take her own seat. But not before sending a quick text.

“Shall we?” Papa grinned and held out his arm.

Taking a deep breath, Molly slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow and followed him out into the garden.

This was it.

She was going to marry Sherlock Holmes.

oOo

**One Hour Later**

The car came to a screeching halt, rubber burning, and Sherlock jumped out, John on his heels. He sprinted across the train platform and stumbled to a stop at the edge.

"No, no, no!"

Sherlock cursed and watched as the train disappeared around the far curve.

"Damn." John gripped his friend’s shoulder.

Mary, never one to give up, marched over to Sherlock. "So go after her!"

"How?" He snapped. "That was the only train today. She'll be long gone by the time I can get to London from this godforsaken town."

“Mycroft."

Sherlock sneered. "He won't help."

"Oh, yes he will." The trio turned to see Mummy and Papa climb out of their car, having just arrived. Mycroft ducked out of the back seat, Anthea behind him.

“I’ve already sent for reinforcements,” the PA admitted.

Within ten minutes, a black helicopter was landing in the small station’s car park. The pilot, dark glasses obscuring his eyes, looked over at them. Mycroft hurried across the pavement as Mummy hugged Sherlock and kissed his cheek.

Her smile was understanding and Sherlock felt the pit of shame in his gut ease. She hadn’t approved of what he’d done, but she understood her son better than he did sometimes. And she knew he would make it right.

"Go get our girl!" With a wink, she pushed him towards the heli. Sherlock nodded and flashed a nervous smile. Jogging away, he ducked against the windsheer and pulled himself inside.

Mycroft handed him a noise cancelling headset.

"Her train arrives in fifteen minutes," Mycroft shouted as they lifted up.

"Then you'd better tell the pilot to get a move on!"

They sat in relative silence for a moment, each looking out their windows. Then Sherlock turned toward his brother. Mycroft raised his eyebrows in question.

_ Thank you _ . Sherlock mouthed.

Mycroft tilted his head, but a small smile tugged at his lips as they looked back out their windows.

oOo

Molly leaned her forehead against the window, staring out at the countryside flying by in a blur and trying hard not to dwell on the ache in her heart and the fact that two hours ago, she had been standing at the far side of a beautiful garden, about to marry the love of her life.

That it was all a sham aside, for a heartbeat when Sherlock had taken her hand, she had let herself believe it was real. That he wasn't just going along with his ruse to please his parents: a marriage of convenience, he gets unlimited access to the lab and his parents get to believe he has settled down. And Molly? Well, Molly got Sherlock.

But when it came time to say ‘I Do’, she couldn't. She couldn't even look at Sherlock. The shame bore down on her and before she knew it, she had interrupted Mycroft’s officiating and tearfully, but bravely, admitted her part in the whole shameful ruse to Sherlock’s parents, and the small crowd.

In the aftermath, everyone swarming around them, his mum smacking him upside the head, John seething and practically vibrating in rage, Mary threatening to shoot his bollocks off, Molly had slipped away. She turned back at the door and caught Mr Holmes' eye. The older man had smiled sadly at her, the ever present tower of calm amidst the rest.

She had changed out of the perfect dress, laying it reverently on the bed with her engagement ring on top, unable to hold back the tears at this point. She’d quickly changed into trousers and a cardigan and grabbed the keys to their rental car.

Though her heart was breaking, she knew she has done the right thing. She couldn't marry him under false pretenses. She couldn't marry him at all.

oOo

They arrived just as the train was pulling in. Sherlock watched it slow to a stop, his hands clasping his knees as he ached to do something, anything, while the pilot circled the lot for a large enough landing space.

"I'll have to set down at the far end," the pilot shouted over the comm.

Sherlock bit his tongue, irritated. The lot was a good half kilometer long. He would just have to run.

They had started to gather a crowd of onlookers. The heli hadn't even touched down before he threw off his headset and bolted, jumping to the ground and taking off at a dead run.

He had to catch her. Before she got a cab, before she disappeared. Before she closed the book on him for good.

He weaved through the cars and the people gaping at his entrance. After what felt like an eternity, he reached the platform and leapt up the stairs, panting and searching for the familiar head of brown hair.

A couple parted and there she was. Small and forlorn, she had her hastily packed bag slung over her shoulder and was rummaging through her pockets. No doubt looking for her Oyster card to get home.

Her makeup had run and her eyes were bloodshot from crying. His stomach churned at the sight. He had done that.

She sniffled and wiped her face with her sleeve.

"Molly."

She looked up in surprise and froze. "Sherlock? What..." She gaped at him. "How did you get here? Why are you...sweating?"

"You left.”

She tucked her hair behind her ear. “You’re not usually one for stating the obvious, Sherlock. Look, I know I promised I’d go through with it, but I just, I  _ can’t _ , and you know why and this whole thing was a bad idea right from the start-”

“Shut up!” He cut her off in, exasperated. She stared at him in shock. “I think you said enough at the wedding. Now I have something to say.”

Her lips pulled back, not in the cute way when she was trying not to smile, but in the angry way when she was itching to slap him. But he had to get this out, she had to know.

He took a deep breath. “I love you.”

She blinked.

“I love you,” he said it again, finding it easier to say the second time, then the third. “I love you. I didn’t know I did or how deeply until I was standing in front of our family and friends, in the middle of a garden...wife-less.”

Her brown eyes were suddenly more luminous and brighter than ever before. 

“I will be honest, I am terrified. I’ve never been in love before and I’m afraid I’ll screw it up somehow.” He swallowed. “But you make me want to be brave.”

She took a shuddering breath.

He took a step closer.

“I love you, Molly Hooper.”

He reverently cradled her face in his hands.

“Be brave with me.”

She closed her eyes.

“Marry me.”

He leaned down and her lips brushed his as she whispered, “Okay.”

He crushed his mouth against hers and wrapped his arms around her waist. The crowd that had gathered cheered, Mycroft watching with a fond, exasperated, brotherly smile, but Sherlock and Molly didn’t pay them any mind.


End file.
